Absence
by the ticking clock
Summary: Kvothe becomes the mask he wears. Bast can only watch. Oneshot. Slight spoilers for Wise Man's Fear.


Kvothe has the most wonderful laugh.

It is one of the first thing Bast notices about him. That underneath that mess of red hair and haunting smile there is a person, still very much a boy. It is easy to coax that sound out of him-that full belly chuckle that seems to come from the depths of his soul.

At least, it was easy once. It's much harder now.

Bast remembers them traveling on the road to the small town. Lessons were abundant then, and Kvothe was constantly questioning him. Laughter, although a little less frequent, still happened often. One night, while they were tangled up together in blankets to keep warm, shivering against the winter cold, Kvothe whispered, "what do you think I should call myself, Bast?"

"Call yourself?"

His Reshi rolled his eyes. "Well, I can't go by Kvothe, now can I? I'm dead, remember?"

"I don't know."

"What about "Kote"?" Kvothe's voice was soft, musing. In the darkness his smile was terrible.

Bast knew what the word met. _Destruction. _

Kvothe's eyes challenged him to question it, so Bast let the matter pass. "Whatever you say, Reshi."

* * *

Kvothe is very adept at putting on masks.

Bast knows that this has something to do with his childhood, but he has never asked too many questions. Kvothe is not extremely forthcoming, and to be honest Bast fears his teacher's wrath. Broken and unable to do magic, his Reshi has become emotionally unstable and a bit unpredictable. He does not want to push him any further than need be.

The mask of the innkeeper is strange to Bast, but Kvothe embraces it naturally. He busies himself making cider's and soups, welcoming the townspeople in with stories and drink.

Bast watches from the shadows behind the bar, and notices how dead his Reshi's eyes are when he laughs.

* * *

Lessons continue but are more scarce, now that they have costumers to serve.

Kvothe teaches him, and although Bast can see that his master is as engaged in the lessons as ever, there is a weight of secrecy and pain on his shoulders. Bast does not question it, and let's his teacher build the masks.

After a few months of small town life, Kvothe's masks and burdens are becoming more and more evident. When Bast quietly suggests he play music to calm himself, Kvothe's mask shatters and he cries out, raw and anguished, "I can't, Bast! I can't, I can't don't you see why I-"

Initially Bast starts at the outburst, but by the time Kvothe's ragged cries quiet to sobs, he is by his teacher's side.

The man is terribly childlike in Bast's arms, shivering and shaking, fingers forming signs and gestures that the Fae can't understand, whispering names from a distant past. Bast combs his fingers through the wild red hair and croons soft words in his own language until Kvothe's red-rimmed eyes turn to look up at him. "What am I going to do, Bast?"

"We'll think of something, Reshi," Bast says, firmly. "We'll think of something."

* * *

A year after their arrival, Bast watches Kvothe's mask sink into his bones.

It's small changes at first, how he starts when Bast calls him by his true name, his curious, almost confused look when Bast mentions something from the past, but over time Bast watches in horror as the man he knew fades into a simple innkeeper.

Kvothe is broken and faded, starting to believe that he truly is nothing more than a poor innkeeper with a wild assistant, that there is no worth in his life but cider and old human drinking songs.

Bast sees none of his teacher's former music, none of his spark and his fire. His green eyes no longer darken with wild laughter, his smiles are only quiet now. His Reshi is a shadow, bleeding slowly into the simple fabric of human life and vanishing with shadows.

It's terrifying.

* * *

Bast comes up with a plan.

He's desperate and rash and not thinking straight, but he cannot take another day of this. At first, when he sends out the messages, he panics. What is he doing, revealing their location? What is he _thinking _putting Kvothe in danger like this?

Maybe danger is what they need. Maybe that is what it will take for Kvothe to remember who he really is.

It takes months, but when the Chronicler finally shows up on their doorstep and asks to tell Kvothe story, Bast has an idea. This is someone who might be able to actually help them. This is someone who can remind Kvothe what it is like to actually live.

He lets the Chronicler see a bit of his desperation, but eventually it is threats and bindings and ownership that work. He bends the childish manling to his will and holds fast to his beliefs.

He is not letting Kvothe fade anymore than he already is.

* * *

Laughter does not come easily these days.

Bast is tense and haunted by Kvothe's story, by his own actions and manipulations. Still, he has time to weave a few holly crowns and play some pranks.

Kvothe's startled, quiet laugh the beginning of the second day lifted Bast's spirits. He bit his tongue to keep from saying anything, and just let the sound of it wash over his ears: full and sweet and childishly heavy. Kvothe has the most wonderful laugh.

Bast is glad he gets to hear it again.

* * *

Perhaps the soldier scheme is a little extreme.

He does not expect return to find Kvothe broken and bloody, staggering against tables from support. Kvothe looks at him with hollow eyes, smiling a sour grin that makes Bast's chest ache. How is this his Reshi? How is this Kvothe the kingkiller, how has he been destroyed by two little soldiers?

Kvothe spits aching, raw words at him that sting in all the right places and send him staggering back. His teacher always knows exactly what to say, and even if Kvothe does not truly know what happened, the bitterness hurts.

It's the quiet, heaving sigh and the apology afterwards that does it. Bast feels something snap inside him and he forces his teacher into his chair. He's furious with himself, furious at the world, furious that this has happened at that his brave, strong, wild Reshi has been reduced to a bloody, cowering _boy. _

So Bast takes his teacher's blood and pain into his own mouth, and holds the sweet tang of it a little longer than necessary as punishment.

"You are an idiot, Reshi," Bast says gently, exhausted in so many ways and hurting in more, he knows that Kvothe does not realize that Bast is speaking to both of them.

* * *

Kvothe's mask slips in and out of place now.

When Bast watches him tell his story, he's more animated, and Bast catches glimpses of the Reshi he remembers.

But the Kote mask slips so easily into place, effortlessly fits and calms the wild expression into one of pleasant passivity and welcome. Bast cringes when he sees it.

He longs for the man who laughed easily, who understood that there was still some good in the world. He wants his Reshi back.

He looks across the table at Chronicler. The scribe is shaking his head.

Bast has almost come to accept that the Kvothe he knew is never going to come back.

He feels the absence sharply and acutely in his throat and blinks burning eyes until they slide into their natural blue.

Kvothe looks at him with sudden concern, but something in Bast's expression must say enough, because he does nothing except put a gentle hand on his student's shoulder.

Chronicler shoots him a terrified look, probably remembering the last few times Bast's eyes changed, but Bast ignores him.

Reaching up, he wraps his fingers around Kvothe's hand and grips back, takes a deep breath, and calms himself enough so when he blinks his eyes are a human blue again.

Kvothe offers him a smile.

Bast pulls his own mask on, and manages a smile back, even if his mind and heart are screaming. "Come on, Reshi," he prompts. "What happened next?"

The story is lost on him, even as Kvothe turns away, sighs and picks up his tale again.

Bast watches his teacher, watches the lines around his mouth, the tightness of his gestures, the sad weight to his words, and bites his lip to keep from crying out. This is not the man of the stories. This is not Kvothe, this is not the musician, this is not the kingkiller, this is not a powerful student of the University who called the wind. This is Kote the innkeeper.

Hate is probably too strong a word, but Bast loathes this mask. Loathes that his teacher has been reduced to _this. _

He is never getting his Reshi back.


End file.
